


Darklock

by Wolf_dog



Series: My Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:56:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_dog/pseuds/Wolf_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a collection of my prompts for roleplaying. If you are interested in one, please message me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 - Baskerville (Werelock)

John was a werewolf. He was _Sherlock_ ’s werewolf. It hadn’t taken John long to figure out that he was Sherlock’s. Sherlock had been unusually patient in the time John had taken to figure it out, and John was glad for that. He was glad Sherlock had been kind enough to let him figure it out on his own. Sherlock cared about him, that’s why he waited. Sherlock would never let anyone hurt him, John knew that. He was always proud to show off Sherlock’s claim on him, and he knew Sherlock liked it too. That was why he wore the collar. It expanded and contracted depending on which form he was in. It was bright red, and had several loops on it, that were meant for leashes, but were mainly used because Sherlock liked tugging him around with it. The only time John was put on a leash was when he’d been bad, and he tried hard not to be bad. He liked pleasing Sherlock. He’d kill for Sherlock (and had done so in the past). Sherlock protected John, and John protected Sherlock. If Sherlock deemed someone that needed to be killed, John had no qualms in killing them. After all, if it pleased Sherlock, he would do anything. As they walked along, John glanced at the leash in Sherlock’s hand and hoped they wouldn’t need it today. They were on a case, and on their way to the train station.  Something about footprints (John really wasn’t sure how that had interested Sherlock).  They were going to Dartmoor. John had vaguely heard of the place, but he had never taken any interest in it. He was in his wolf form right now, and with his shaggy, fluffy blonde fur he could almost be mistaken for an oversized golden retriever, but with pointed ears. He had a suitcase handle in his mouth, his head tilted up to keep their suitcase from dragging on the ground. Sherlock wouldn’t like that. As they got into the station, he knew people were staring at him, but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was Sherlock. His tail wagged happily at the fact that both he and Sherlock were going on a case out of London together. As they were about to board, the station master ran up to them, puffing slightly. “You can’t take pets on the train!” he protested. John didn’t look at him, instead staring up at Sherlock. He was Sherlock’s. He didn’t want anyone else, and wouldn’t do anything to upset Sherlock.


	2. 2 - Homeless John

John lived on the street. He was an invalid from war, and he couldn’t find a job. He took shelter in parks and scrounged up as much money as he could, limping everywhere he went. Every week, on Tuesday’s, he would go to a little café. It was quiet, and peaceful and not that expensive. There was a man that would come in around lunch time (the same time as John), and sit at the same table – one across from John – and ordered the same thing every day. John was curious about the man, but wary. He looked rich with the clothes that he wore. And he was handsome too. His eyes captivated John. They were a silvery blue, and yet they seemed so dark at times, swirling with dark emotions. Sometimes, he would look across and catch John staring and _smile_ , making John turn back to whatever he had been able to afford. Over time, the man started talking to John. After a few weeks, he started casually saying things like ‘If you were mine, I would feed you properly’ or ‘If you were mine, I would get you proper clothes’. It made John feel slightly uncomfortable – but mainly only because he didn’t know much about him – and intrigued. He would find himself saying, slightly remorseful, “But I’m not yours.” He wondered how much of this the man would take. John found himself wanting to agree to be his, but his rational side protested, saying this man could be anything, anyone – a thief, a murderer, a criminal.

He could go to a different café, but he was addicted. To the man. He wanted to be his so much, if only he had a logical reason behind these feelings. Taking a deep breath in, John stared at the café doors for a moment. He was late. He didn’t have any money today, and he was starving. He wasn’t sure he should go in. But he wanted to see Sherlock. No – he _needed_ to see him again. Stepping inside, John found disappointment welling in him. Sherlock wasn’t there. Well, he could hardly expect him to be there _every_ week. Besides, John was at least two hours later than normal – he could hardly expect Sherlock to wait for him. Turning around, he went back outside, and found himself shivering in his well-worn clothes, not suitable for London’s winter. He started to head back to his park, trudging through the snow on the ground, not looking forward to waiting another week to see Sherlock again.


End file.
